


The Usual Suspects

by JustLyra



Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Arguments, Assault, F/M, M/M, Other, Who Done It?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-08 17:05:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13462674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLyra/pseuds/JustLyra
Summary: The bosses are sick of the fighting and fallouts. Carmelo takes the 9 main protagonists to a house and tells them to sort it out before they ruin the sport forever. He expects rows, he expects fights, but he doesn't expect one of them to be left fighting for their life - and only another rider could be responsible.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for basically disappearing. Life was very hard over Christmas and New Year. It'll never be the same without him. But, writing helps. I'd kind of forgotten that a little bit. The lovely Mariposaroja helped me find my way back to it and I'll be forever grateful xx

“I’m not staying here…” Marc shook his head, incredulous at the suggestion, “I don’t need to put up with this.”

Valentino, for the first time in several years, nodded in agreement, “Yeah, fuck this shit.”

“SIT DOWN!” His voice booming around the kitchen of the villa, Carmelo stared until they both slumped back into their seats, the two of them taking their place next to the other riders who’d been summoned by the Dorna boss, nine riders in total, “This _situation_ cannot go on. I have dealt with shit-storms before, I thought I had seen it all, but this year…” Carmelo shook his head in disgust, puffing out his cheeks, “But you lot seem determined to destroy the sport that created you… Riding dangerously, threatening each other in press conferences, selling stories to journalists, damaging cars, threatening to damage brake cables… You sleep with each other’s girlfriends, you sleep with each other… It’s gone too far… The fans have had enough, viewing figures are down. No viewers – no tv money. No tv money means no big deals. No big deals mean you are just a bunch of guys messing around on bikes at the weekend. It needs sorted, and it needs sorted now.”

“And how, may I ask,” Valentino interrupted, his arms folded as he challenged the older man, “does summoning us here help any of that?”

“We’re staying here.”

“Staying?” Dani frowned, leaning forward, wishing he’d stayed out of Marc’s spat with Jorge, and the one with Valentino, wondering for the millionth time why he’d moved from his resolutely neutral stance, “What do you mean _staying_?”

“Your teams have cancelled all of your commitments for forty-eight hours.”

“No way…”

“Now, wait a minute…”

“Shut up Vale. You too Jorge,” Carmelo stood up, allowing himself to look smug for just a second, “The transport is gone. It will return in forty-eight hours. There are ten bedrooms. No-one goes anywhere until this, all of this, is sorted.”

*

“Can you believe this?” Marc stomped into Alex’s room, Carmelo forbidding them to share (the same treatment being dished out to Aleix and Pol), waving his mobile around, “Santi said _‘maybe Carmelo has a point’_ whose fucking side is he on?”

“Guille said the same,” Alex lifted his feet onto his bed, bringing his knees up to his chest, “Apparently **Emilio** was one of the people behind the whole thing.”

“Well he’s fucking fired,” Marc slumped down next to Alex, anger bubbling in his belly at the deceit involved in getting them here, “I mean, **how** is this going to help? This is not going to make Vale less of a prick, he’ll still fucking waffle on about 2015. Jorge will still be, well _Jorge_ …”

“Don’t,” Alex shook his head, sadness written on his face, “If you could end your feud with him that would be…”

“He _cheated_ on you…” Marc clicked his tongue and shook his head, his tone showing his feeling very clearly, “He’s a long way from forgiveness. Franky can do one as well.”

*

“Hey, is Uccio coming to pick you up?” Franky poked his head around Valentino’s door, the older Italian pacing up and down his room with a face like thunder, “Vale.”

Turning to Franky, the level of rage on his face something like the younger man had never seen before, Valentino shook his head, his voice clipped, “Uccio is _helping police with their enquiries_ over unpaid parking fines…”

“Nobody ever pays their parking fines here?” Franky frowned for a second, before a look of amazement passed over his face, “They arranged to have Uccio arrested so he couldn’t come here?”

Lips pressed tightly shut, his rigid body language giving away every emotion, Valentino nodded, “It looks like it…”

“So, what do we do then?” Franky looked to his manager for guidance, flopping down on the chair in the corner when Valentino simply shrugged, “I don’t even know why I’m here…”

Valentino raised an eyebrow, giving his younger charge a sceptical look, “I think, and it’s just a hunch, it may be _something_ to do with stepping into my row with Lorenzo.”

“Well…”

“Which you did,” Valentino added with a cheeky flourish, “because you are in love with Alex…”

“Pfft.”

*

“I’m sorry, Carmelo has organised this thing…” Dani stood in front of the window, looking out at the beautiful scenery he couldn’t help, but smile, Phillip Island one of the most beautiful places in the world in his opinion (when you were indoors out of the wind), “I can’t get out of it…”

“I know. I know…” Watching some seagulls in the distance, wondering how much carnage the local wildlife would cause for the race organisers this year, Dani sighed as his new girlfriend went off on a spectacular rant, “I know, babe, I’m sorry. Carmelo is the boss and he wants us to sort this out, so we have to do that.”

Moving away from the window Dani rolled his eyes, the conversation getting ridiculous, the flyaways showing just how little Lara knew about MotoGP, “Look, I’m sorry. I have to be here. You’ll be fine in the hotel, just make use of the hot tub and order room service. I’ll see you when I’m back.”

*

Stretching out on his bed, iPad in hand, Maverick scrolled through the list of 2016 races until he came to Silverstone. If he was going to be forced to be here, and he didn’t know why given he hadn’t outwardly argued with anyone, and he certainly hadn’t fucked anyone, then he’d make the most of the peace and watch his favourite race of all time.

*

“STOP!” Grabbing his brother, Aleix’s jaw was clenched, his tone sharp and curt, “Stop fucking pacing!”

Furious, so much so the veins in his neck were visibly throbbing, Pol’s voice was even higher than normal, “We have been kidnapped! We are being forced to spend two days, **two fucking days** , in this house with _that_ cheating little prick… And for what? Because his whiny social media posts have made people feel fucking sorry for him!”

“I told you not to respond to any of them. He was bitching about wanting to leave Ducati…”

“He wasn’t!” Pol almost combusted with fury, “He was bitching because he fucking cheated on Alex with Ricky and then when he was called out for being the cheating scumbag that he is he took it out on Ricky and people called him out on that!”

“Pol..”

“No,” Shaking his head, angrier than he ever had been in his life, Pol’s eyes were almost black, “We should be in the house with the girls, relaxing, and instead we’re here because Lorenzo had a hissy fit at Alex and decided to use Ricky, our friend who he KNOWS is still in love with him, to make himself feel better.”

*

Picking up his phone, his room at the very end of the corridor, Jorge scrolled through the list of names, before a sharp realisation made him sink down onto the bed.

Hearing various people chatting through the house, some of the riders chatting to their friends, he realised that there was no-one in the house he could talk too, not that would talk back anyway. His phone highlighted the impact of his recent actions, only Albert would be guaranteed to answer, but he must have been in on the plot to get him there.

Chucking his phone aside he pulled his hood up, muffling the sounds of the house a bit, the isolation easier when he could pretend they were even there.

*

**_36 Hours Later_ **

“You have dialled emergency triple zero. Your call is being connected.”

Checking for a pulse again, the terrified rider bit his lip, “Come on, come on…”

“Emergency, do you require police, fire and rescue, or ambulance?”

“Ambulance, we need an ambulance.”

“Connecting you now…”

“Please, hurry…”

“Ambulance, what is the address of the emergency?”

“It’s the Red Villa on Phillip Island, the one with the fountain. Please, he’s bleeding really badly.”

“Stay calm, Sir. Is that Braidmore House?”

“Yes, yes that’s it. Please…”

“What is the emergency? What has happened today?”

“I don’t know what happened, I just found him. He’s hit his head, he’s bleeding really badly.”

“Is it just the one casualty?”

“Yes, just the one. Just Jorge.”

“Ok, what’s your name?”

“Alex. I’m Alex. Please, he’s really hurt.”

“Ok, Alex, the. Is Jorge conscious?”

“No. No, he’s not!”

“Is he breathing?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know!”

“The ambulance is on it’s way, just stay calm.”

“He’s not moving, he’s making funny noises, like gurgling…”

“Ok Alex, we need to find out if Jorge is breathing.”

“I don’t know how, I don’t know what to do… MARC! MARC!”

“Alex, listen to me, this is what you need to do…”

 

“What the fuck?” Franky stepped out into the garden, the early morning sun casting eerie shadows over the place. Looking at Alex, his former teammate drenched in blood as he tended to Jorge, the Ducati rider prone on the floor, Alex receiving instructions over loud speaker.

“Don’t just stand there!” Alex screamed at the Italian, trying to keep a check on Jorge’s breathing, his seeming determination to swallow his tongue and stem the flow of blood from the hideous wound on the side of his head almost impossible alone, “Help me!”

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Alex?” Taking a chair at the table, the inconsolable young man sat at the end, Detective Sergeant Peter Williams smiled kindly at the blood-spattered Spaniard, “I’m DS Williams. I need to ask you a few questions, is that ok?”

Nodding nervously, Alex’s hands trembled on the table, his brother sat by his side, “Is he dead? Jorge, is he dead?”

“No,” Peter shook his head, watching every detail of the interaction between the two brothers, “I spoke to the hospital on my way here and he’s very unwell, but he’s not dead. So, can you tell me what happened?”

Picking at his own nails, Alex’s voice was shaky, “I, erm, I got up and had a coffee.”

“What time was that?”

“About six thirty. I couldn’t sleep, the bed,” Alex bit his lip, hating remembering, “…then bed has a frame, I’m too tall. I kept kicking it and waking up. I had a coffee here… I went outside to get some air and he was there… He was just lying there and…”

“It’s ok,” Squeezing Alex’s shoulder, his arm wrapped around his brother, Marc comforted his brother, “It’s ok.”

“He was lying there and there was blood just coming from his head. It was all over the tiles and he wasn’t moving…” Breaking down, the sobs loud and broken, Alex curled into his brother, “I thought he was dead.”

“He’s not dead, he’ll be ok,” Cradling his brother, Marc stroked Alex’s hair, “He’ll be fine, you know what Jorge is like. He’ll be back annoying everyone soon enough.”

Observing the interaction between the two, and the level of heartbreak clear on Alex’s face, Peter put his pen down, “Alex, I have to ask questions that people sometimes don’t want to answer, but I have to ask. Do you understand?”

Alex nodded, knowing what was coming, the internet having been awash with rumours since he and Jorge were spotted on holiday together in the summer.

“How well do you know Jorge?”

“He… We…”

“This needs to stay confidential,” Marc interrupted, aware of the shit-storm that confirmation would bring down on them both, “It’s important.”

Nodding, Peter smiled, “I understand that. And there’s nothing I’d like more than to guarantee you that I won’t tell anyone else or whatever, but I can’t make promises that I might not be able to keep. It’s only something that people will hear from me if it’s necessary for the case. Ok?”

Nodding, Alex looked to his brother for reassurance, Marc nodding as well, “We were together.”

“Were?”

Trembling, his despair clear in his body language, Alex wiped his face with his hand, “He, erm, after the summer there were rumours. Someone took a photo of us when we were in Punta Cana… Jorge, he got nervous. We had a row.”

“So, you split up then?”

Shaking his head, Alex bit his lip, “No. We split up a few weeks later when… When I found out he’d slept with Ricky.”

“Ricky? Ricky Cardus?”

“He’s Jorge’s ex,” Marc interjected, hating the fact Alex was so broken.

“Right,” Making notes again, Peter locked his eyes on Alex, “It wasn’t an amicable split then?”

“No,” Alex looked up, his eyes widening in panic, “It wasn’t me. I love him. I, erm, we’ve been talking.”

“What?!” Wide-eyed and surprised, Marc looked at Alex in shock, “You can’t be seriously thinking about taking him back?”

“I love him,” Shrugging, Alex sat up slightly, Marc’s arm slipping from his shoulder, “He was sorry.”

“You have to be kidding, Alex, he nearly broke you…”

“Marc,” Peter interrupted, his pen in hand, “What time did you get up this morning?”

“I woke up when… Wait, you don’t think?” Marc shook his head, incredulous at the suggestion, “Look, I don’t like the guy. He hurt my brother badly, but this? I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that to Alex.”

“So, what time did you get up this morning?”

*

“How did it go with the police?” Aleix looked up from his phone as Pol entered his room, his younger brother looking ashen faced, “Pol?”

Sitting down on the edge of Aleix’s bed, Pol sounded as fearful as he felt, “I think that policeman thinks it was me…”

“I’m sure he doesn’t, he’s just doing his job,” Putting a hand on Pol’s shoulder, Aleix squeezed him reassuringly, “He’s grilling everyone.”

Looking at his own hands, his nails freshly clipped, Pol turned to Aleix, his eyes wide, “They took swabs and clipped my nails.”

“They’ve done that with everyone. You’ve got nothing to worry about. You were in your bed asleep,” Aleix smiled fondly, “Everyone knows you sleep until someone wakes you.”

“He couldn’t believe I didn’t wake up with all the commotion,” Pol’s voice started to wobble, “He doesn’t believe someone could sleep through all that noise. He thinks I did it, he thinks I hit Jorge with that rock.”

“It’ll be ok,” Aleix pulled Pol into a hug, “They’ll work out who it was soon enough. It’ll be fine.”

“It’s ok for you,” Pol pouted slightly, wishing he had an alibi like Aleix had, “You can prove you were online for all the time with Laura and the twins. I can’t, what if they think it was me? What if I go to prison?”

“You’re not going to prison,” Holding Pol tightly, soothing him as best he could Aleix pressed a kiss to Pol’s head, “They’ll know it wasn’t you. It’ll be ok.”

*

“Where are you up to? How’s Lorenzo? The press is holding back for now, but it won’t be long before someone jumps to be first…”

Standing in front of the work board, trying to pull together facts and possibilities, Peter, turned to his boss, “He’s in surgery to try and relieve pressure on the brain.”

“CCTV?” DI Marston looked at the board, the photograph of the crime scene making him wince at the amount of blood on the previously pristine tiles.

Shaking his head, rueful of that fact, Peter folded his arms, “None of the pool area. No-one entered or left Braidmore after Ezpeleta sent the staff away.”

“So, someone in the house is responsible?”

“Looks like it,” Peter pointed to three names grouped on one side of the board, “The hospital seems to think he was attacked around 4 hours before he was found. He was found at six-thirty. So, around two-thirty… Ezpeleta was on the phone to a Spanish television company from one am until three thirty. Aleix Espargaro was speaking to his wife between one and four and Maverick Vinales was on a conference call with his manager and a potential team boss between two and four.

“Any of the rest of them making your radar ping?”

“Alex Marquez,” Peter pointed to Alex’s name, “He and Lorenzo were in a relationship. Lorenzo cheated on him with his ex. It was far from amicable. Marquez found him…”

“Is he your focus?”

“Sort of,” Peter sighed, shaking his head, “This guy isn’t popular… Marc Marquez is incredibly protective of his younger brother… Pol Espargaro is best mates with Ricky Cardus, the ex… Valentino Rossi threated to cut Lorenzo’s brake cable in a press conference recently after a fall out over Lorenzo goading him about Rossi not winning on the Ducati. They are my four main suspects. The other two are more an instinctive thing… Franky Morbidelli is managed by Valentino Rossi and got into the middle of a physical row between them a while back. There’s nothing massively to say that he is involved, but he was shifty when I spoke to him. Chose his words very carefully…”

“Language barrier?”

“His English is better than mine…” Peter pointed to Dani’s photograph, “And Pedrosa sounded very plausible… Was asleep, has nothing against Lorenzo, they used to hate each other, but now they’re mates, and everything is shiny and happy…”

“Forensics?”

“Waiting on all the results. Once I get them back hopefully we’ll have something.”

“What’s your next move if you don’t?”

“I’ll bring in Marquez. Alex.” Peter nodded, looking at Alex’s photo again, “He’s the most likely candidate. I’ll interview him properly. Without his brother there he’ll be weaker.”

“He doesn’t look the type…”

“They never do,” Peter laughed, the comment a joke between him and his boss after a serial killer pleaded with them both several years before, the man’s only defence being that he didn’t look like a serial killer, “It’s one of them though.

*

“How are you doing?” Marc sat on the edge of Alex’s bed, eyeing his brother with concern, “Any news from the hospital?”

Alex shook his head, pulling his knees up to his chest, “Nothing. I’m not family so they won’t tell me anything.”

“He’ll be ok, he’s tough.”

Biting his lip, tears pooling in his eyes, Alex looked bereft, “You didn’t seem him, Marc. He… It was bad, it was really bad.”

“He obviously angered someone a lot…” Marc looked at Alex, his concern for his brother making his stomach churn, “Alex…”

“What?” Alex looked at Marc, his jaw dropping when he realised, “No! No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t!”

“Ok, sorry,” Marc reached for Alex’s hand, regretting his question when his brother pulled away, “I had to ask.”

“You shouldn’t have needed too…” Alex sobbed, his world collapsing around him, “I love him. I wouldn’t do that. You know me… How could you ask that?”

“I’m sorry…”

“Leave me alone,” Turning to the side, resting against the wall, Alex’s body shook with sobs, “I can’t believe you’d think that of me.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First day I've double posted in forever... :D

“Alex…”

Glaring at his brother, his rage bubbling over, Alex picked up his hoodie, “I’ve nothing to say to you.”

“Don’t be like that. Please.” Almost pleading, Marc looked crestfallen when Alex pushed past him to get downstairs, “Alex, I was just…”

Holding his hoodie in front of him like a defensive shield, Alex had tears in his eyes, his tone bitter, “You were just asking if I had tried to _murder_ Jorge.”

“I didn’t think that…”

Heading out of the room, all of them having been given permission to re-join their team to prepare for the race weekend, Alex stopped when he was level with Marc, “I can’t believe you would ask me that.”

“Alex…” Despairing as his brother walked away, knowing that if Alex wanted he could avoid him all weekend, Marc cursed himself, opening his mouth the very worst thing he could have done, “Fuck.”

*

“What the fuck happened?” Jumping up as soon as his best friend came through the door, Uccio shook his head, “What’s going on?”

Valentino shrugged, trying to pretend he wasn’t shaken by the whole situation, “Someone smacked Jorge on the head with a brick. Well, a rock from the garden.”

“What?” Incredulous, amazed that the news hadn’t leaked, Uccio implored Valentino for more information, “What happened? Where is he?”

Giving his friend a sarcastic look, Valentino dropped down onto the sofa, “He’s in the hospital…”

“Is it bad?”

“He needed surgery for bleeding on his brain. It’s bad…”

“Who was it?” Not instantly grasping the seriousness of the situation, Uccio laughed, “I should buy them a pint.”

“Don’t say shit like that!” Infuriated, realising how the lack of CCTV or witnesses had put them all in the spotlight, Valentino shook his head at Uccio, “If you say shit like that then police will think it was me.”

“Was it? I mean, you’ve said a few times you’d like to…” Uccio’s eyes widened almost comedically as Valentino jumped up and grabbed him by his collar, “Alright alright.”

“I am a suspect in this… If he dies…” Letting go of his long-time friend, his fears showing through, Valentino shook his head, “It could be murder…”

“Can I help? I could say you called me or…”

“No!” Valentino shook his head, almost pleading with the other man, “Don’t’ tell any lies. It’s bad enough that they know about the brake comment…”

“Do they know about Milan? About the row?”

“No,” Valentino sighed, putting his head in his hands, “I should have told them…”

“It’s fine. No-one knows about that,” Uccio slung an arm around Valentino, “That stays between you and me.”

“Just don’t say anything stupid for fuck’s sake…”

*

“You’re quiet…” Perching on the edge of the sofa in the Marc VDS rented house, Franky bit his lip, “He’ll be ok.”

Looking up, unable to help the sarcasm, Alex rolled his eyes, “So, as well as knowing all the different languages you found time to study neurosurgery, did you?”

“No,” Franky sighed, deflated at being no help, “Sorry.”

Putting his hand on Franky’s arm as the Italian moved to get up, Alex shook his head, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… Marc… Marc asked me if I did it. I shouldn’t take that out on you.”

“What? He actually asked you? Just came out and said it?” Franky watched Alex carefully, the Spaniard looking more hurt and offended than angry, “I would have thought he’d have known.”

“Me too.”

“I mean, if you had done it, like if you’d snapped then you’d have gone to Marc straight away,” Holding his hands up as Alex shot him a look, Franky smiled, “That didn’t come out the way I meant it too. I just mean Marc should know if you did or not because he knows you better than anyone.”

“I thought you meant you suspected me too,” Alex looked at Franky, almost begging for him to believe him, “I would never want to hurt Jorge.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Franky bit his lips, shrugging slightly, “You love him.”

“You must think I’m so stupid,” Alex pulled his sleeves over his hands, the fleece inner of his hoodie bringing comfort to him, “I mean, after what he done to me…”

“You can’t help who you fall for. No-one can.”

*

“The police came to see me, what’s going on?”

Adjusting the screen of his iPad, Aleix puffed out his cheeks, shaking his head, “Someone hurt Jorge.”

“What?” Laura frowned, “Who?”

“We don’t know. Alex found him this morning. He was unconscious.”

“Is he ok?”

“He had to have surgery for a bleed on the brain… He’s really badly hurt.”

“Jesus,” Turning her iPad slightly, the babies tiny, but it still feeling wrong for them to hear such a horrible conversation, Laura frowned, looking concerned, “Do they know who it was?”

“No,” Aleix shook his head, looking troubled, “It must have been someone who stayed…”

“No way.”

“It has to have been,” Shifting uncomfortably, Aleix shook his head, “Someone in the group hit him on the head with a rock and then left him there…”

“Be careful,” Looking frightened for her husband, the safety of the paddock group suddenly feeling very broken, Laura smiled, “Your son peed all over me today, twice!”

“No way!” Aleix laughed, loving the escape from the tenseness for a few moments, “What about my little Princess?”

*

“What happened with Alex?” Putting his arm around Marc, and handing him a beer with the other, Santi nudged Marc with his knee, “Come on, you only ever get like this when you two falls out.”

Marc looked up at his crew chief, shame on his face, his voice low, “I asked him if he did it.”

“What?” Incredulous Santi froze for a second, before tilting his head, “You think.”

“No… Maybe… I just…” Marc shook his head, totally lost looking, “He’s been talking to him. To Lorenzo. I think they were getting back together.”

“Seriously?”

“Exactly,” Marc pointed at Santi, the older man reacting just as he had, “That’s what I said! I just… I wasn’t expecting him to say that. It was like when they got together all over again… I felt…”

“Marc…”

“We didn’t know Santi, we didn’t know for months…” Trying to defend himself, only for his own sake, he knew Santi would never judge him, Marc bit his lip, “He lied to us for months and we didn’t suspect a single thing.”

“Hiding his relationship with Jorge and hiding the fact he tried to kill him are very different things Marc…”

“I know,” Taking a swig of beer, Marc almost wept, “I know that Santi, but… You saw what Alex did to the house when they broke up… He was hurt and betrayed and he was so, so angry…”

“It’s still different,” Santi frowned, looking at Marc carefully, “What do you think now?”

“I don’t think he did it.”

“You don’t think, or you one hundred percent know he didn’t.”

“Clever,” Marc smiled at Santi ruefully, “The only way I’d one hundred percent know would be if it was me.”

“He hurt Alex badly.”

“There have been times I wanted too, but I didn’t do it.”

“I believe you,” Santi took a swig of his beer, “Do you believe Alex?”

“I think so,” Marc shrugged, looking sad, “But that’s not good enough, and he hates me for it…”

*

“Anything from forensics?”

Peter looked up to his boss and shook his head, “No. Nothing. Lorenzo’s mobile is interesting though…”

“Why so?”

“He sent a message to his manager, Albert Valera, around midnight. Apparently _“twatface”_ had another go at him…”

“Who is twatface?”

“No idea,” Peter got up from his desk and moved over to the workboard, “His manager told him to ignore it. Lorenzo said he was sick of it, it had gone on for long enough and it was time twatface let it go…”

“That sounds like an ongoing argument to me?”

“And me…”

“What’s your plan?”

“I’m going to the hospital. Valera hasn’t left Lorenzo’s side apparently.”

“After that.”

“After that, Sir,” Peter picked up his jacket, “ _Twatface_ has some questions to answer. Primarily why he failed to mention having a row with Lorenzo last night…”

*

“Your brother is a bit of a dick sometimes…”

Alex giggled, he and Franky having drank far too much beer, “He is. I mean, he’s not often a dick. It’s just when he is a dick, he tends to be a fucking spectacular dick.”

“You know,” Franky chuckled, leaning back on the sofa, looking at Alex, “Your leaked swim shorts photo had people online talking about your fucking spectacular dick…”

Spluttering, his face going bright red, Alex covered his face with his hand, “Doooon’t!! I can’t believe that happened.”

“They were snug shorts…” Franky wiggled his eyebrows, someone having taken a photo of Alex at the sports club when he was training, “And you filled them nicely.”

Looking at Franky with curiosity, Alex smiled as the penny dropped, “So, the rumours about you being bi are true then?”

“No,” Franky shook his head, before whispering comedically loud to Alex, “I’m gay. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t go to Punta Cana…” Dryly sarcastic, Alex laughed as Franky chuckled, before copying his whisper, “I’m gay too.”

“I know…”

“That why you were looking at my swim shorts?”

“Alex,” Franky rolled his eyes, “You were _everywhere_ on the internet… You were hard to miss…”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Do you want me to be?”

“Maybe…”

“Then maybe I am…” Franky leant in, Alex’s mouth as soft as he’d imagined as their lips pressed together, Franky pulling away a little, “Alex, I don’t want to take advantage…”

“You’re not,” Locking lips with Franky again, Alex moaned softly as Franky’s tongue swiped into his mouth, the pair of them forgetting their woes as hands found their way into hair and beer bottles clattered to the floor as they were forgotten.

 


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh Jesus, fucking hell..." Franky arched his back, the sensation of Alex's spit-slicked hand wrapping for around his cock was as good as he could ever have imagined, "Shit, are you sure about this? Alex?"

Sinking his teeth into Franky's neck, Alex moved his hand faster, taking the Italian right to the precipice with nimble fingers before slowing down, hauling him back from the edge brutally, making him wail in a way Alex hadn't heard anyone wail for several months, "I want to fuck you... Do you want that?"

"Yes, fuck yes, please," Thrusting into the Spaniard's hand, it moving frustratingly slowly, Franky's toes curled when Alex ran his tongue over Franky's over-sensitive skin, "Please, please..."

"Roll over onto your stomach..."

*

"Mr Valera, I'm DS Peter Williams, we spoke on the telephone."

Shaking the Australian policeman's hand, Albert glanced at Jorge, his head swathed in bandages and a tube in his mouth controlling his breathing, "Do you know who did this to him?"

"Not yet, no."

Nodding his head toward the corridor, not wanting to take the chance that Jorge could hear them, Albert followed Peter from the room, "Is it true that it must have been one of the others in the house?"

"It appears that way. We've checked the CCTV and there doesn't appear to be anyone else who enters or leaves the house," Peter look through the window to Jorge's room, the normally tough, and cocky, rider looking extremely vulnerable, "I wondered if I could ask you a few questions. Mr Lorenzo, Jorge, seems to have had a few problems with various people recently."

Folding his arms, taking a glance at his friend through the glass, Albert shrugged slightly, "That's not new with Jorge. He's a very... complex... person."

"So, he has lots of enemies?"

"I wouldn't say enemies exactly, more, he doesn't have an overabundance of friends."

"Is that due to the situation between himself, Alex Marquez and Ricky Cardus?"

Albert looked up sharply, unused to hearing Jorge's same sex relationships referenced so openly, "That, erm, that's not something that..."

"I realise it's something he wanted to keep quiet. However, like I said to Mr Marquez, and his brother, I can only promise that I won't spread it around without need, but someone did this to him..."

"It won't have been Alex..." Albert turned back to face Jorge, his voice slightly wistful, "Jorge loves that kid, and he loves Jorge. They were close to sorting things out, Alex understood Jorge's paranoia. He was similar, not as bad, but he kept it quiet from everyone for several months as well. They are quite similar... Alex just has better manners."

"They kept their relationship hidden from everyone? Even you? Even Mr Marquez's brother."

"Especially from Marc, to be honest," Albert smiled fondly, "Marc and Alex are extremely close, but they are also very protective of each other. Alex knew Marc would worry himself sick about it - he was right, the three races after he found out Marc crashed, in one race he crashed twice..."

"So, Marc was unhappy with the relationship?" Peter made a note in his notebook, pausing for a second before seeing the surprise cross Albert's face, "Who is 'Twatface'?"

*

Whimpering, the burning sensation a heady mix of unpleasant and amazing, Franky dug his fingers into the arm of the sofa, “Wait. Just give me a minute…”

“Ok, it’s ok…” Feeling slightly guilty, Franky clearly not used to being fucked, Alex tried to kiss away the guilt of opening him slightly too quickly by peppering his back with kisses, “Relax. Just relax…”

Pressing into the sensation of Alex’s lips tracking their way up to his neck, Franky groaned when they finally reached his pulse-point, the scraping of Alex’s teeth finally taking away the last negative feelings, “Please. Now. Pleaseplease…”

“Fuck, you are so fucking tight,” Rolling his hips, glad no-one was around to hear the way Franky screamed so beautifully, Alex pressed clumsy kisses to Franky’s skin as he rolled his hips, rocking deeper into the Italian each time, both of them grunting when Alex hit _that_ spot, Franky clenching around him beautifully, “Christ… Fuck…”

 *

“Thank you for your help Mr Valera,” Peter closed his notebook, putting his pen into his pocket, “If you think of anything else please let me know.”

Looking through the glass to where Jorge was laid prone, Albert sighed, “There is one more thing. It’s probably nothing, but…”

“Anything may be relevant, no matter how small…”

Hands on hips, clearly feeling awkward Albert sighed, “Jorge was in Milan for an event a couple of weeks ago. It was an evening thing, so he stayed in a hotel.”

“Right?”

“Valentino was there, in the hotel,” Closing his eyes, hating the feeling that he was betraying Jorge, “Vale probably told you already, but, erm, they… Jorge and Vale have a weird relationship. They hate each other, but… Well, a few times their arguments have led to…”

“Mr Valera, just tell me what happened.”

“They slept together,” Albert tilted his head to the side, puffing out his cheeks, “And then they had a row because Vale threatened to tell Alex. Like I said, I’m sure Vale already told you everything anyway.”

“Thank you.”

*

“Please… Please… Pleasepleaseplease…” Bent over the arm of the sofa, Alex already having stroked him to his climax, Franky whimpered, his words getting more incoherent by the second, the over-stimulation of Alex thrusting into him almost too much, “Alex, pleasepleaseplease…”

“So close,” Alex sank his teeth into Franky’s neck, vaguely aware of the desperation in the Italian’s tone, mainly focussed only on the gloriousness of the way Franky’s body was clamping around him, almost milking his cock, “So good, so good…”

“Please… Too much…” Begging, his tone getting needier, Franky’s fingers scrabbled at the fabric of the sofa, clinging on desperately.

“Fuuuuck…” Feeling his balls tighten, Alex lost himself in the sensation of sliding in and out of Franky, revelling in the sensations as sparks washed over him, emptying himself inside Franky, the glory suddenly feeling cold and sticky, “Shit. Sorry…”

“It’s ok,” Sprawled over the sofa edge, his body malleable like toffee, Franky winced as he moved, sticky cum between him and the sofa and leaking from inside him, “Alex?”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have…” Standing up, his jeans and boxers around his ankles almost tripping him, Alex looked at Franky, his body bitten and marked, and used, his stomach lurching, “Sorry. I need a shower. Sorry.”

*

“Sorry to bother you so late,” Not looking remotely sorry, Peter smiled, “Can I come in, I just need to clarify a few things?”

Rubbing his eyes, not having expected a late-night visitor, Dani frowned, “Sure. Come in.”

“Mind if I?” Pointing to the table, Peter took a chair, Dani sitting opposite him, watching confused as the policeman took out his notebook, “Like I say I just need to clarify a few things.”

Yawning, Dani leant his head on his hand, elbow on the table, “Sure. What can I help you with?”

“It’s just the one thing really,” Peter smiled, deliberately attempting to disarm the man opposite him, “I just wanted to check that there was nothing that you forgot to mention when we spoke originally?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Dani,” Peter smiled again, tapping his pen on his notebook, “Why does Jorge call you Twatface?”

“Well…” Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Dani shrugged, “I didn’t realise he did.”

“He does, and according to his phone you and he had a row shortly before he was assaulted,” Peter watched Dani carefully, the colour draining from the Spaniard’s face, “So, I’ll ask you again, why does Jorge call you Twatface?”


	5. Chapter 5

“Mr Pedrosa,” Peter put down his pen and closed his notebook, a highly unamused look on his face, “You do realise if you’d just told me this when we spoke earlier it would have seemed much more believable…”

Dani nodded, sighing as he ran his fingers through his hair, “Jorge told me about Vale in confidence. I just…”

“Jorge was unconscious having had his head whacked by a rock,” Unapologetically blunt, Peter put his notebook and pen into his inside pocket, “Everything you’ve said tonight makes perfect sense. You and Jorge are friends, friends who find their history amusing so he still has you as ‘Twatface’ in his phone. You had a row with him because, in your opinion, he’d left himself open to Mr Rossi’s game playing again. You also rowed because he reminded you that he knows about your crush… All of that is explainable, easily explainable. The fact you chose to lie, twice, means that you are **very** lucky that Mr Valera explained the situation basically the same as you have…”

Dani let out a shaky breath of relief, his hands trembling as the situation hit home, “I’m sorry.”

“Is there anything else you haven’t told me? Any rows or liaisons that Jorge may have confided in you about?”

“No,” Dani shook his head, “That’s everything. I swear.”

“Ok,” Peter stood up, “Thank you for your time.”

*

Standing in the shower, water beating down on him, Alex scrubbed his body with the sponge, tears streaming down his face as he tried to cleanse the smell of Franky from his skin, “Shit... Shit...”

 

“Fuck…” Moving gingerly, the stickiness between his cheeks making him cringe, Franky tried to wipe the cushion, before giving in and turning it over. Closing his eyes as the sound of Alex weeping became audible over the sound of the shower, Franky bit his lip, regretting everything, “Sorry…”

*

“I’m looking for Mr Rossi,” Recognising Uccio straight away, Peter held up his warrant card, “DS Williams.”

Instantly jittery, that catching the policeman’s eye, Uccio stepped back, “Come in. Vale! It’s the police.”

Coming out of the kitchen, a bowl of cereal in his hands, Valentino frowned, “Is something wrong?”

“A few more questions, if you don’t mind?”

Moving to the table, putting down his bowl and spoon, Valentino smiled, “Of course not. Is here ok?”

“Actually, I’d prefer to do this at the police station.”

Shaking a panicked look with Uccio, Valentino shifted nervously, “Why?”

“There are a few matters that we need to clarify,” Voice firm, but friendly, his suspicion growing by the jittery behaviour of the two Italians, Peter smiled, “I think it would be better for everything to have the conversation recorded. Just so there’s no confusion further down the line as to what got said and what didn’t.”

“He’s got practise tomorrow…” Uccio objected, almost stammering, “He needs to sleep, and train.”

“Mr Rossi,” Peter reiterated his words firmly, “I’d like you to accompany me to the station to assist us with our enquiries. Is this something you are willing to do?”

“Well… I… Do I have a choice?”

“Of course,” Peter smiled, the sarcasm clear, “You can either come with me voluntarily, or I can arrest you in connection with the attempted murder of Jorge Lorenzo and we can do things the more difficult way…”

“I’ll come… I’ll come.”

*

“Hey… Are you ok?” Alex padded into the kitchen, joggers slung low on his waist, no shirt, feeling guilty when he spotted a red mark creeping over Franky’s collar, “Franky, I’m really sorry…”

Sat at the table, sitting awkwardly on a cushion, Franky shrugged, trying to pretend Alex’s regret didn’t’ sting, “It’s ok.”

“No, no it’s not. I shouldn’t…” Alex took the seat opposite Franky, guilt clear on his face, “Leaving you on the sofa like that… I didn’t even check on you, and that was rude.”

Looking up sharply, Franky clicked his tongue, “I’m not a fifteen-year-old virgin.”

“No, I know. That’s not what I meant,” Running his fingers through his hair, Alex sighed sadly, “I’m fucking this up as well. Look, walking, _running_ , away like that wasn’t on. I should have checked you were ok, and I shouldn’t have made you think that you’d done anything wrong. I just… I felt like I’d used you and I felt guilty… I’m sorry Franky. You deserved better than that.”

Shrugging, accepting his part of the blame, Franky poured Alex a glass of orange juice, “It should be me apologising. You love Jorge, and he’s in hospital and I shouldn’t have…”

“You didn’t take advantage. You really didn’t,” Alex insisted, smiling softly when Franky eventually looked up, “We’ve always got on really well and I’d hate for that to be fucked up.”

Pushing the glass of orange toward Alex, the silent peace offering, Franky nodded when Alex raised a questioning eyebrow, “It’s fine. It’ll be fine… Apart from the sofa cushion… It’s very not fine.”

“Shit…” Alex giggled, some of the pressure lifting as he shrugged, “We’ll blame Joan. After Motegi Michael will believe us…”

*

“He’s awake!” Running to the corridor, Albert yelled toward the nurses’ station, “He’s wakening up!”

Dashing into the room, firmly gripping Jorge’s hands to prevent them tugging on the tube, the nurse smiled at Jorge’s flickering eyes, “It’s ok Jorge, you are in hospital. The tube was helping you breathe. We’ll take it out soon, just stay calm. It’s ok, everything is ok… Can you wait outside please?”

“Sure, yeah,” Stepping back out of the room, nurses and doctors running in, Albert’s view was shut off when the blinds were flicked shut, some of the worry about him not waking up evaporating, it quickly replaced by the worry about the frightening words that had floated about after his surgery, words like brain damage.

*

Pressing the buttons on the recording machine, Peter waited for the beeps to be audible, before he spoked, “Interview with Valentino Rossi at Cowes Police Station, Thursday November twenty-fifth at twenty-two forty-six. Officers present are myself, Detective Sergeant Peter Williams and Detective Inspector Christopher Marston. Also present is Valentino Rossi. Mr Rossi, you have been invited to assist us with our enquiries into the serious assault on Jorge Lorenzo at Braidmore House, where you were also staying. Can you confirm that you have come here voluntarily today?”

“I have,” Starting to feel nervous, the formal set-up of being sat opposite the two policemen making him feel uncomfortable, Valentino coughed.

“And can you confirm that you have been offered the opportunity to organise legal counsel to attend with you and that you have turned that opportunity down?”

“I don’t need a lawyer,” Valentino shifted in his chair, “I haven’t done anything wrong, so I don’t need one.”

“Thank you,” Smiling, opening the file he had in front of him, Peter looked at Valentino, “Mr Rossi, can you just clarify what you said to me at Braidmore House earlier today please, about your relationship with Jorge Lorenzo?”

“He was my teammate. Now he’s not…”

“Would you say that you and Mr Lorenzo are friends?”

“Not really no.”

“You recently threatened to cut his brake cable, did you not?” Peter looked at his notes, before looking back up to Valentino, “That was in the pre-event press conference for the Thai grand prix three weeks ago. Why was that?”

“I didn’t mean it,” Valentino shrugged, trying to brush off the comment as the heat of the moment comment it was, “We tangled at the Aragon race, it was just one of those comments… Heat of the moment.”

“And that’s what it was about? The Aragon race?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing else?” Peter looked Valentino in the eye, the intensity of the look making Valentino fidget, “It wasn’t about what happened between you in Milan?”

“No. No, it was about Aragon,” Valentino’s heart sank, realising the depth of trouble he was in, “I didn’t do this, I didn’t hurt him.”

“Mr Rossi, Valentino… Earlier today I asked you if there was anything pertinent to your relationship with Mr Lorenzo that I should no. What did you say to that question?”

“I said no.”

“You said no,” tilting his head to the side, the tone making his level of suspicion clear, Peter frowned, “Do you not think that sleeping together, then fighting, then you threatening to tell Alex Marquez, who Mr Lorenzo was attempting to win back, could possibly be pertinent?”

“I… Well… I… I think, maybe, I should speak to a lawyer…”

“Interview suspended to allow Mr Rossi to seek legal advice.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Interview resumed twenty-three thirty. Officers present are myself, Detective Sergeant Peter Williams and Detective Inspector Christopher Marston. Also present is Valentino Rossi and Caroline Young, legal representative for Mr Rossi. Mr Rossi, are you happy with the legal representation you have?”

“Yes.”

“And are you happy to continue with this interview?”

Glancing at his lawyer, the conversation with her embarrassing and tough, Valentino nodded, “Yes.”

“Good,” Peter took the cap off his pen, his notepad ready for taking notes, “Mr Rossi, we established before the break that you had been somewhat… reticent… when describing your relationship with Mr Lorenzo. Would you care to clarify that now?”

Valentino nodded, his face going red, the sick feeling in his stomach swirling violently, making him feel nauseous, “Yes. I would.”

“Can you tell me what the nature of your relationship with Mr Lorenzo is please?”

“Jorge was my teammate at Yamaha from 2008 until 2017,” Valentino swallowed hard, talking to strangers about his sexuality and relationship difficult, “We didn’t get on from day one. We clashed all the time… We’re both… Well, relationship wise we… We’re… Erm…”

“You are both gay?” Peter interjected, quite fed-up of being lied too and misled by riders, “Yes?”

“Yes,” Valentino nodded, biting his lip, “In Jorge’s first season Lin, Lin Jarvis our boss, sent us on a night out to try and sort the issues between us. We got drunk, we argued and… Well, we slept together.”

“Was this a one-off event?”

“Erm, no. It happened a few times over the years.”

“Was it a relationship?”

“No,” Valentino shook his head, glancing again at his lawyer before sighing, “At one-point Jorge thought, _hoped_ , that we were, but for me it was never a relationship.”

“Did that cause problems with Jorge?” Peter looked up, looking Valentino in the eye, “Is that why you left Yamaha for Ducati?”

“No,” Resolute, Valentino shook his head, “I left because I wanted a new challenge. Also, I was used to being number one in my team and that was changing at Yamaha.”

“Ok,” Peter noted that admittance down, “Did you see Mr Lorenzo while you were at Ducati?”

“We saw each other at races. Not socially though,” Valentino bit his lip hard, bad memories flooding back, “In those two years we… were together… only once.”

“When was that?”

“It was after Valencia. Marco, my friend, another rider, was killed at Sepang… We had a ride out for him at Valencia… The gala that year was… It was emotional, and we ended up together.”

“So, that was 2011?”

“Yes.”

“And since then?”

“Since I came back to Yamaha we hadn’t…” Valentino picked at his nails, “After Aragon there was an event in Milan. We were both there. We’d clashed at Aragon, we were staying in the same hotel. That wasn’t planned.”

“What happened at the hotel?”

“We argued. Later that night he came to my room,” Shaking his head, frustrated and letting it show, Valentino almost ranted, “Jorge **cannot** let anything go. If he thinks he’s right, he goes on and on and on about it. Like a dog with a bone. We argued more, I tried to make him leave and we ended up… Well, you know.”

“You had sex?”

“Yes,” Valentino went red-faced, “After, I made a comment about Alex. Jorge flipped. Uccio and Mat, my friends, they were in the room next door and then ended up coming in. They got him back to his room and Albert kept him there.”

“When you say, ‘he flipped’ what do you mean?”

“He flipped… He was shouting, yelling, pushing and shoving.”

“So, it got physically violent between you? Is that the only time it has ever got physically violent between you?”

“Yes. It is.”

“What about at Braidmore?”

“No,” Valentino shook his head, pleading to be believed, “I didn’t do that.”

“Did you go to Mr Lorenzo’s room?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I didn’t.”

“Did he come to your room?”

“No.”

“Did he come to make sure you weren’t going to tell Mr Marquez?”

“No.”

“Did you go to him to threaten to tell Mr Marquez?”

“No.”

“Did you think about threatening him again?”

“Thinking something isn’t a crime Detective,” Interrupting before Valentino could speak again, his lawyer frowned, “Do you have any evidence that my client assaulted Mr Lorenzo?”

“Did you assault Jorge Lorenzo at Braidmore?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think I’d remember.”

“You _think_ you’d remember?”

“I would remember,” Valentino looked to his left, pleading for his lawyer to step in again, “I didn’t do this. I didn’t hurt him.”

“Is there… Excuse me, come in!” Looking up as a uniformed officer entered the room, Peter took the slip of paper and showed it to his boss, “PC Dawson entered the room to deliver a message and has left again… I think that will be all for now. Thank you for your co-operation.”

“What happens now?” Valentino looked bewildered, wondering what was on that paper.

“We’ll be in touch,” Closing his notebook and lifting his pen, Peter stood up, “Thank you.”

*

“Mr Lorenzo,” Peter smiled as he walked into the room, more than a small surge of relief going through him, murder cases never anyone’s favourite, “I’m Detective Sergeant Peter Williams. It’s very good to see you awake.”

Jorge smiled, his head fuzzy from a combination of swelling, pain and painkillers, “Thanks.”

“So, I promised the nurse, and Mr Valera here, that I wouldn’t grill you too much, but I was hoping I could ask you a couple of questions?” Hovering near Jorge’s bed, having been well warned that the Spaniard still wasn’t fully with it, Peter smiled at the small nod, “I’ll keep it very simply, can you tell me what happened to you? Or what you can remember at least?”

Frowning, that being a question he’d asked himself over, and over again, since escaping the foggy haze that was keeping his eyes shut, Jorge wished the beep of the machines would be quieter, “Carmelo summoned us. He said we had to sort everything out.”

“What did you need to sort out?” Taking notes, knowing that the first statement was usually the most important, the painkiller levels too high for coherent lying, Peter sat down on a chair next to the bed, letting Albert stay standing.

“There were too many arguments. He said the fans were pissed off, So, we had to stay there and sort it out.”

“Ok, so you were staying at Braidmore,” Peter smiled, “Can you remember anything about what happened in the garden?”

“The garden?” Jorge frowned, trying hard to think, that hurting his head, “Vale was smoking in the garden. Franky too.”

“Valentino and Franky were in the garden?” Peter watched Jorge carefully, the Spaniard obviously struggling to remember things, the mention of the Italian making Albert stand up straighter.

“Yes. We were waiting for dinner, so they were smoking. I went out the front instead.”

“This was before you went to bed?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Was it light outside?”

“Obvious,” Jorge pulled a face, “It was like five o’clock or something… Wasn’t it?”

“Do you remember anything from when it was dark? Did you go to bed?”

“Erm,” Desperately trying to remember, Jorge looked at Albert, feeling vulnerable and confused spooking him, “I would have done, right? I’d have gone to bed. I go to bed at the same time every night, so I’d have gone to bed. Why don’t I remember?”

Stepping closer to the bed, Albert smiled fondly, his familiar voice reassuring to the younger man, “The doctor said it might take a day or two for everything to come back to you.”

“Right,” Totally discombobulated, Jorge sighed, lifting one hand to touch the bandage on his head, “Do you have any paracetamol Albert? My head is banging.”

“I think we’ll leave it there for now,” Peter put his notepad and pen into his inside pocket, taking a business card out and putting it on Jorge’s bedside cabinet, “This is my number. If you remember anything, anything at all, then give me a call. I’ll pop back some time tomorrow.”

“Who did this to me?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Peter smiled as he stood up, “We’ll work it out.”

*

“Jorge is awake,” Franky watched Alex’s reactions carefully, his heart sinking at the clear relief and happiness in his colleague’s face, “That’s good.”

Nodding, the news good, but confusing, Alex smiled, it not quite reaching his eyes, “Yeah, it’s good.”

*

“Jorge is awake,” Valentino put his phone down on the table, biting his lip, “That policeman really thinks it was me…”

Uccio flicked the light back on, looking bleary eyed at his best friend, “It’ll be fine. Go to sleep.”

*

“You ok?” Dani padded into the kitchen, Marc sat at the table, looking as forlorn as a child who’d lost their favourite teddy, “Marc?”

Marc looked up, slightly startled as he hadn’t heard Dani come down the stairs, “Jorge is awake.”

“That’s good,” Dani poured himself a glass of milk, pouring it into the glass then into a small pan, “Do you want some warm milk?”

Shaking his head, already having tried everything to make himself sleepy, Marc smiled, “No thanks.”

“Alex will be ok,” Dani switched on the ring and started to heat the milk, “He’ll come around.”

“Yeah,” Marc nodded, letting Dani think that was his only concern.

*

“He’s awake,” Hovering at Aleix’s bedroom door, Pol bit his lip, looking nervous, “He’ll tell the police now, won’t he?”

Alex pulled back his duvet, motioning for his brother to come in, “You didn’t do anything so stop worrying.”

*

“How is Lorenzo?” DI Marston wandered over to Peter’s work board, the added notes and references getting more and more squeezed into the space.

“Awake, talking and coherent… Doesn’t remember anything though.”

“Pity.”

“Tell me about it,” Peter signed, drawing a star next to Valentino’s name, “It’s all circumstantial, but…”

“If you feel that strongly about it speak to the prosecutors, see what they say,” Moving away, DI Marston turned back, “Peter…”

“Boss?”

“If you wrongly arrest Valentino Rossi for attempted murder…”

“I know,” Peter turned back to his board with a sigh, “I’m finished…”

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

“Alex?” Having used his police badge to gain access to the MarcVDS hospitality area, Peter kept his voice low, maintaining professionalism, “Is there somewhere private we could have a word?”

Surprised to see the policeman, Alex’s stomach sank, panicking, “Is Jorge ok? Has something happened?”

“Jorge is fine, well, he’s awake,” Looking around the area, people trying to pretend they weren’t watching, Peter smiled, “Is there somewhere more private we can go?”

Standing up, Alex rubbed the back of his neck, concerned about why the police needed to speak to him again, turning to his boss at the next table, “Michael? Can I use your office? The police just need to speak to me.”

“Of course…”

*

“You didn’t know?”

Crestfallen, his bottom lip trembling, Alex shook his head, “No. Are you sure? What did Jorge say?”

“Yes,” Peter made a note in his notebook, watching Alex’s body language carefully, “Mr Lorenzo wasn’t well enough to discuss it. I discussed it with Mr Rossi. Mr Valera and Mr Pedrosa confirmed it so I expect Mr Lorenzo to concur.”

Looking up sharply, Alex took an inhale of breath, the stabs of betrayal making his stomach hurt, “Albert and Dani knew?”

“So, you had no idea that they slept together?”

Alex bit his lip, his hands shaking, tears threatening to fall, “I knew… In the past… Before…”

“But, not about Milan?”

Shaking his head, Alex sniffed, “I mean, we’d split up, so I suppose it wasn’t really anything to do with me.”

“Have you spoken to Mr Rossi since this event in Milan?”

“Vale?” Alex shook his head, “No. We don’t really speak, he’s not… He doesn’t get on with Marc, or Jorge, so he and I don’t speak.”

“He didn’t tell you about him and Jorge?”

“No.”

“You didn’t know he was threatening to tell you?”

Alex shook his head, “No.”

“I know,” Peter closed his notebook, putting his pen in his pocket, choosing his words carefully, “I know that with the fame aspect of things that people have felt unable to tell me things. However, if I’m to get to the bottom of Jorge’s attack I **need** people to be honest with me. Did you know that Jorge had slept with Mr Rossi in Milan?”

“No,” Alex shook his head, looking Peter in the eye, “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t… We wouldn’t… I wouldn’t have fallen out with my brother over me considering taking him back if I’d know he’d done that.”

“Ok,” Putting his notebook into his pocket, Peter stood up, “You wanted to go to the hospital?”

“I did,” Alex folded his arms, his eyes glassy with tears, “I don’t now.”

“Ok. I’ll see myself out.”

*

“How could you?!” Storming into HRC hospitality, anger having burned in his belly until he’d stormed out of Michael’s office, Alex marched over to the table where Marc and Dani were sitting, the two older men pausing with their spoons in the air as he screamed, “How could you not tell me? How could you do that?”

Marc stood up, hating the look of contorted anger on his brother’s face, genuinely baffled, “What did I do?”

“Shut up you,” Alex practically snarled at Marc, glaring at Dani, his hands clenched into fists by his side, “It’s got fuck all to do with you… How could you just say nothing? How could you let them make a fool of me like that?”

Confused, Marc looked between Alex and Dani, Dani putting his spoon down with a forlorn look on his face, “What’s going on?”

“Why would you do that to me?”

“I’m sorry, Alex. I told Jorge to tell you, I did…” Dani motioned to his private room, “Do you want too…”

“What? More secrets? Hide away. I think there’s been enough secrets, don’t you,” Alex shot Dani the filthiest look, “Although, you like a secret, don’t you Dani?”

“Alex,” Dani stood up, shaking his head, pleading, “Please don’t.”

Turning back and forth between the two, like he was watching a verbal tennis match, Marc put his hands on his hips, getting somewhat annoyed, “Will one of you please tell me what is going on?”

“Jorge is a lying, cheating prick,” Alex spat, turning back to Dani with a venomous look on his face, “And Dani is a disloyal, lying…”

“You and Jorge?” Marc’s jaw dropped, stunned, “You and Jorge?”

“NO!” Dani almost yelled, people definitely staring, Alberto and Santi starting to walk over, “No. Vale. Not me.”

“WHAT?!”

“How could you not tell me?” Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, Alex shook his head, genuinely hurt at Dani’s actions, “After how long I’ve kept your confidence…”

“Please don’t. I’m sorry, Alex,” Dani almost begged, panic unfurling in his belly, his hands clammy at the thought of Alex revealing his secret, “Jorge promised he was going to tell you.”

“Well, he didn’t,” Hurt and angry, Alex turned to his brother, “Did you know?”

“No,” Marc shook his head, “Absolutely not.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, you’re not the most observant.”

“Alex. Please…”

“You didn’t notice me and Jorge for months, even though it was right under your nose,” Shrugging off Santi’s hand when it went to his shoulder, Alex looked at Dani, before turning back to Marc, his tone spiteful, “And you haven’t noticed that your team-mate is in love with you.”

*

“How are you feeling?” Pulling up a chair next to Jorge’s bed, Albert winced, “That black eye is spectacular…”

Jorge rolled his eyes, wincing as he did, the entire left side of his head and face aching, “I feel like someone hit me over the head with a rock.”

“Funny that,” Albert bit his lip, folding his arms, “I just had a text from Santi… Alex knows about Vale.”

Biting his lip, Jorge nodded, “Who told him?”

“The police,” Albert sighed, “He stormed into HRC and had a go at Dani.”

“Dani?” Jorge frowned for a moment, before closing his eyes as the penny dropped, “Why did they have to tell him that Dani knew?”

“Presumably because they are trying to work out who had the motive to cave your head in with a rock… I think that policeman is a bit surprised by how long that list is.”

Glancing at his manager, Jorge pulled a face, “Really? You are having a go at me **now**?”

“I’m not having a go. I just think there has been enough trouble and secrets…” Taking a swig from a bottle of water, Albert narrowed his eyes, “How’s the memory?”

“Foggy.”

“So, you don’t remember anything?”

“No.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing at all,” Jorge picked up a magazine on the bedside table, evading Albert’s eyes, “Have they given any idea when I might be getting out.”

“No.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing at all,” Looking at Jorge, a look of scepticism on his face, Albert shook his head, “Jorge… If you…”

“My head really hurts. Can you ask the nurses if I can have some more painkillers please?”

*

Opening the beer, practise having been a disaster, thankfully his crew and team totally understand, Alex downed half of it in one go, belching loud as the gas all settled in his stomach.

“Classy…” Standing at the kitchen door, his practise sessions not that much better, Franky laughed at Alex’s red face, “You ok, that third crash looked nasty?”

Rolling his eyes, Alex took two more beers from the fridge, opening the lids with his teeth and handing one to Franky, sarcasm dripping from his tongue, “It was better than the fifth one…”

“You’ll be covered in bruises…” Franky took a long drink of the beer, his cheeks burning as Alex watched him intently, “What?”

Taking another drink, his eyes on Franky the whole time, Alex put down his beer bottle, walking over to the Italian, “I think I should leave…”

“Why?” Franky put his beer bottle down on the table, Alex crowding him against the wall, the Italian keeping a hold of Alex’s glance, “Why would you want to leave?”

Stepping closer still, millimetres between them, Alex’s voice was shaky, the emotions clear on his face as they rumbled around his body, “Jorge slept with Vale. In Milan… I found out today from the _police_ … Albert knew. Dani knew…”

“I didn’t know.”

Nodding, relieved by that, Alex licked his lips, “I’m angry. I’m hurt. I like you, but I’m not over him, not by a long way.”

“I know that…”

Rubbing his cheek against Franky’s, letting his lips brush Franky’s stubbled jaw, Alex’s voice was barely a whisper, “I’d ruin you and you have to race…”

“I’ll survive…”

Closing his eyes, Franky’s hands going around his waist, Alex shuddered as their crotches came into contact, Franky obviously rock hard in his shorts, “You really should leave…

“I don’t want to leave…”

*

Closing his notebook, frustration clear in his voice, Peter sighed, “So, you didn’t hear anything or see anyone?”

“No,” Jorge shook his head, wincing at the pain when he did, “Sorry.”

“Mr Lorenzo,” Peter implored him, knowing his lack of evidence was going to make it impossible to have any realistically high chance of solving the case, “I realise you have been through an ordeal, and in your shoes, no-one would blame you for being somewhat frightened, but…”

“It’s not that, I just don’t remember anything,” Lifting his hand to his head, Jorge sighed, “I’m sorry, I’m really tired.”

“Ok,” Peter put his notebook, no fresh notes from his chat form Jorge in it, away and stood up, “If you remember anything, anything at all, please call me.”

“Thanks,” Jorge sat up a little as Peter moved toward the door, “You said I could have my phone back? I’d like to text a few people, let them know I’m ok.”

“Sure,” Taking the phone from his pocket, it still in the plastic evidence bag, Peter’s gut told him Jorge was lying, “Please call me if you remember anything.”

“I will. Thanks.”

*

“Please… Fuck, please…” On his hands and knees on the bed, both having obtained bruises bouncing off walls until they found their way to the bedroom, Franky whined when Alex pulled harder on his hair, forcing him to arch his back, “Please…”

Bringing his hand down onto Franky’s rump, the sound echoing around the room, it intertwining with Franky’s desperate moan, Alex thrust his hips harder, taking Franky with a ferocious pace, “Not yet…”

“Please. Fuck. Please.” Reduced to babbling, four languages getting all mixed up, Franky whimpered as Alex aimed at his prostate, the constant thumping stimulation verging on too much, only the sharp pain of his hair being pulled and Alex’s hand slapping down on his skin again and again keeping him from tipping over the edge.

Spanking Franky successively, slamming into him, Alex cursed when Franky’s body spasmed around him, the Italian crashing over the edge with a wail loud enough to be embarrassing the next morning, the sensations hauling Alex over with him, exploding inside Franky with a grunt.

*

Turning his phone over and over in his hand, the decision making him swither repeatedly, Jorge sighed as he typed out the message, his decision made.

*

Picking up his phone, his eyes widened at the name on the screen. Opening the message his heart raced, any chance of sleep gone for the night.

Jorge

| 

 

| 

I haven’t told anyone, but I remember everything. I know it was you. We need to talk.  
  
---|---|---  
  
 


	8. Chapter 8

Sitting at the breakfast table, qualifying ahead, Valentino turned his phone over and over in his hands, continually glancing up at the door, his sleep fragmented by dreams of being arrested.

“Stop it. They’ll arrest whoever did it soon enough.”

Glaring at Uccio, his fellow Italian having put his hand on Valentino’s phone, forcing it to the table, Valentino shook his head, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Just, stop that, it’s annoying.”

Getting up, his chair scraping noisily on the floor, Valentino picked up his phone, “I need some air. I’ll see you at the track later.”

*

Stood by the window, subconsciously holding his breath every time a car passed, expecting the police to arrive any moment, Alex flipped his phone over, and over, again in his hand, a voice suddenly cutting through the fog in his brain, “Sorry?”

“I said,” Franky moved behind the taller man, limping ever so slightly, collar of his shirt turned up, more hiding marks than fashion statement, “Stop worrying. The police will catch the culprit soon.”

Stepping away abruptly, Alex picked up his hoodie, heading for the door, “I need some air. Tell the boss I’ll make my own way to track.”

“Alex…”

“I’ll see you later.”

*

“I think we need to talk…” Hovering awkwardly near the kitchen door, Marc sat at the table with Santi, eating his breakfast, Dani took a deep breath, “Please? You’re so jumpy, this needs sorted before practise and qualifying.”

Marc nodded, grateful when Santi agreed and left the two riders to it, Dani taking a seat opposite him, “It’s not just you. I keep expecting every car that passes to pull in and arrest me.”

“Why? You didn’t hurt Jorge,” Dani poured himself a coffee, tilting his head, frown on his face, “Did you?”

Laughing slightly Marc shook his head, reaching over to the worktop to pick up the sugar bowl for Dani, “No, I didn’t hurt Jorge.”

“Good,” Putting two sugars and some milk into his coffee, Dani stirred the dark liquid, “Me neither. Just for the record.”

Marc frowns for a second, before looking up at Dani with a puzzled look on his face, “You know, I never thought you had for a single second. Everyone else I’ve thought _‘Well Jorge did this’_ or something, but it never even occurred to me about you…”

“Thanks. I think…” Dani took a sip of his coffee, the pot having been made long enough ago that it was instantly drinkable, “So, it wasn’t me, and you won’t think it was Alex… So, who the fuck was it? What?”

Puffing out his cheeks by taking a deep breath, feeling guilty for thinking it, that being added to by a feeling of disloyalty for saying it out loud, Marc bit his lip, “You were the **only** person I discounted completely.”

“Not Alex?” Dani looks stunned, taking a few moments to process that before putting his cup back down, “Wow.”

“I don’t think he did do it, that’s not what I’m saying,” Defending his brother, and himself, Marc’s forehead furrowed, “It’s just… Jorge made him so angry. When he found out about Jorge and Ricky he went mental.”

“Yeah, you said he smashed some plates?”

“Yeah, and the rest,” Shaking his head, leaning his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand, Marc closed his eyes, remembering back to the night Alex almost destroyed their house, “We were in Andorra. They were out. Alex came home, and he was drunk, properly drunk. He’d driven home from Jorge’s flat…”

“Jesus Christ, those windy roads to your place…” Dani’s eyes went wide, genuinely shocked by Marc’s revelation, “He could have been killed.”

“Or killed someone else…” Biting his lip, Marc went on, his voice catching every now and again, hating the memory of how hurt Alex was, “He was broken. I’ve never seen a person so… I don’t even know how to describe it, Dani, he was just _broken_. Santi asked him if he was ok and he just lost the plot. He smashed plates and bowls, cups and glasses, he broke a window with a frying pan, he turned the table upside down. My marble dining table that took four people to carry it in; he just tipped it up like it was nothing, or like he was the Hulk… We tried to stop him, but he fought us off. Me, Santi, Jordi and Hector and between us we couldn’t hold him back.”

“Fuck…”

“In the end we sat on the stairs until he broke down crying,” Marc wiped a tear from his eye with his sleeve, his heart-breaking at the memory of the sound of Alex weeping, “He was on the floor in the lounge, everything smashed up, and he was holding a photo of him and Jorge. He cried for over an hour.”

“That doesn’t mean he’d physically hurt Jorge. He loves him.”

“Sometimes loves hurts us more than anything else…”

“True.”

“Sorry,” Marc held his hand up, feeling guilty again, “That was thoughtless, Dani, sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Dani smiled, shifting awkwardly in his seat, “I never wanted you to find out. I know that you and I are friends, and only friends. I just hope we can still be friends now.”

“No, Dani, I’m mortally offended that you find me attractive…” Marc smiled, glad when Dani smiled back at him, a slight blush showing on Dani’s cheeks, “I can’t even really think about this right now though. Alex is…”

“I know,” Dani interrupted, waving away Marc’s well-mannered apology, “Alex is a lot of things, and he’s probably very angry. He’s not a deliberately violent person though. There’s no way he walked up to Jorge and deliberately struck him on the head with a rock. He needs his big brother…”

“He’s not talking to me…” Marc almost wept, hating the idea of Alex trying to deal with everything on his own, “I asked him if he did it…”

“He’ll come around. He will. He needs you, and he loves you. He’ll come around. Give him time.”

*

Sitting in his hospital bed, bored witless, Jorge looked up as the door opened, taking a breath when the other man entered the room, “I wasn’t sure if you would actually come.”

“I wasn’t sure either to be honest,” Looking around, clearly on edge, he shrugged, “I’m not sure it’s the best idea I’ve ever had, but…”

Jorge nodded, silent for a few moments before he looked them in the eye, his tone blunt, “Want to tell me what the fuck happened? Because from what I remember we were just talking and things were… Well, they were ok… Then I walk away and the next thing I’m on the ground with a hole in my head.”

“Are the police on their way?”

Shaking his head, Jorge swallowed hard, realising for the first time that he’d invited the person who’d hurt him into the private hospital room with closed blinds, “No. I haven’t said anything to them. They think I can’t remember yet.”

“Why?” Genuinely confused, he looked at Jorge, “Why not tell them?”

“I need to know. I need to know why. Before the world and their wife gets involved I need to know why.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nine down, one to go...
> 
> I really, really struggling with this chapter. I'm still not totally happy with it, but I had to stick with my original instinct for this. I hope it works ok and doesn't wreck it for anyone... 
> 
> Thank you for reading x

Sitting in his hospital bed, bored witless, Jorge looked up as the door opened, taking a breath when the other man entered the room, “I wasn’t sure if you would actually come.”

“I wasn’t sure either to be honest,” Looking around, clearly on edge, he shrugged, “I’m not sure it’s the best idea I’ve ever had, but…”

Jorge nodded, silent for a few moments before he looked them in the eye, his tone blunt, “Want to tell me what the fuck happened? Because from what I remember we were just talking and things were… Well, they were ok… Then I walk away and the next thing I’m on the ground with a hole in my head.”

“Are the police on their way?”

Shaking his head, Jorge swallowed hard, realising for the first time that he’d invited the person who’d hurt him into the private hospital room with closed blinds, “No. I haven’t said anything to them. They think I can’t remember yet.”

“Why?” Genuinely confused, he looked at Jorge, “Why not tell them?”

“I need to know. I need to know why. Before the world and their wife gets involved I need to know why.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” Sagging against the wall, the guilt at seeing the bandages swathing Jorge’s head making him crack, Alex began to weep, “I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” The hurt clear in his voice, Jorge bit his lip, tears threatening his eyes, “Why did you do it? Why hit me? What snapped?”

“What do you mean?” Leaning against the wall, his shoulders hunched, Alex frowned, his forehead furrowing in confusion, “You said you remembered?”

“We were in the garden, we talked and… we kissed. Then we said we had to wait for the season to finish…” Shaking his head, remembering that he was the one demanding answers Jorge’s irritation showed in the sharpness of his tone, “Why did you do it? Why hit me with a rock and leave me there to die?”

“You said you remembered?” Alex stood up, beyond confused, before his face crumpled, the contents of his stomach threatening to erupt, “Oh my god. You think… You actually think that I…”

“You did,” Sharp, irritation turning to outright anger, Jorge’s mouth twisted, “I can’t believe you would come here, come to my **hospital bed** and then… lie…”

“No,” Shaking his head, his feet glue to the spot, Alex was completely crushed, his voice barely more than a whisper, “How could you think I would do that to you deliberately and leave you to die? I love you…”

“Yeah,” Defensive and confused, Jorge couldn’t help the sarcasm, “The hickeys on your neck show just how much you _really_ love me…”

“You don’t get to judge me,” Alex bit back, hurt on so many fronts, “Not after what you did in Milan.”

“I didn’t leave you to die…”

“You were **fine**!” Crying out, pain showing in his voice, Alex rocked from side-to-side, comforting himself instinctively, “You got up. You called me a prick. You laughed. You laughed…”

“I laughed?” Jorge shook his head, the memory of laughing there, hazy, but no recollection of anything else, “Why would I laugh when you tried to kill me?”

“You actually believe that…” Broken, Alex bit his lip, shaking his head sadly, “Marc thinks I did it. He thinks I picked up a rock, chucked it at you then left you die… You think I did it… What kind of person do you think I am? How? How could you think I would do that to you?”

“You did! Indignant, Jorge winced, his hand going to his head, his own loud voice hurting, “Why?”

“Do you remember talking about Vale? About him shit-stirring with Maverick?” Alex pushed his hands into his pockets, the fear swirling in his body, fear of Jorge believing this, prison no longer his biggest worry, begging the older Spaniard to remember, “Do you remember laughing about his car window getting smashed?... … …. Do you remember talking about the guy who tried to smash his motorhome window and the rock bounced off it?... … … Do you remember Pol?”

“Pol?”

“Pol was smoking out the bathroom window,” Alex’s voice was quiet, his entire life slipping away from him, his belief that everything would be okay if Jorge woke up shattered into little pieces, “We joked that we could smash Vale’s window and Pol would get the blame. You said we could get two twats with the one stone…”

“Two twats with the one stone,” Closing his eyes, that phrase resonating for some reason, Jorge winced again, all the talking, and thinking, too much, “Can you go please?”

“Please,” Begging, Alex ignored the tears on his cheeks, “You must remember, Jorge. You **must** remember. You can’t think that I would do that to you…”

“I…” Jorge looked at Alex, taking in the younger man’s drawn and haggard face, “Please. Just give me… Come back tomorrow.”

“Jorge…”

“Please, Alex. Just… I need to think… I need to try and remember. You are confusing me.”

“Please,” Alex shook his head, openly crying, desperate for Jorge to remember accurately, “Please don’t send me away. Please, I didn’t do this to you deliberately. It was…”

“Please, Alex,” Sharper, loud enough to make him curse in pain, Jorge looked at the younger man, his green eyes pleading, “If you love me, if you ever loved me, then please leave…”

“Right. Okay,” Walking out of the door, utterly devastated and forlorn, Alex shuffled along the corridor, taking his phone from his pocket as he called for the lift, ringing the only person he could think of, “Marc… I’m at the hospital… … No, I’m fine.... … I know it’s practise, but could you come and get me please?”

*

Hunched over, perched on the edge of a metal visitors bench outside the hospital, Alex felt suffocated. The overwhelming pain of heartbreak and panic making his chest tight, his breathing too fast and too shallow, everything foggy and frightening.

“Alex,” Sprinting from the car, leaving Jose Luis to park, Marc dropped to his knees in front of his brother, “Alex? What’s wrong? Is it Jorge? What happened?”

“Can’t…” Grabbing his brother’s hands, Alex was simply terrified, the constriction in his chest making him light-headed, “…breath…”

“You need to slow down. You’re breathing too fast. Come on… In… Out… In… Out… In…” Squeezing Alex’s hands, trying not to show the worry in his own chest, Marc copied the breathing he was trying to demonstrate to Alex, “Slow it down. Breath… In… and out… In… And out…”

“He,” Tears streaming down his face, the suffocation easing, but the pain and panic in his stomach still gripping him, Alex stammered, “Hehehe thinks it wwas mmee… Dddeliberate…”

“We’ll sort it out,” Stroking Alex’s hands, soothing in the rhythm of the breathing he was trying to encourage, Marc softened his voice, “I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t you. That’s it, keep breathing. In… And out…”

“It was an accident,” Completely breaking down, the heart-breaking sobs drawing attention from all who passed by, Alex crumpled into Marc’s arms, beyond devastation, “He was okay. He laughed. How could he think I’d do that? How could you? Why would I ddo that to hhim? I lllove him…”

“It’s…” Freezing momentarily at Alex’s confession, Marc regained his composure enough to pull Alex tighter to him, his mind whirring at the possible implications, “It’s ok. It’ll be ok.”

*

“You wanted to see me?” Coming into Jorge’s room, perma-smile on his face and arms folded, the doctor took a seat on the chair next to the bed, “The nurses said you think you might remember something?”

Sat on his bed, crossed legged, and conflicted, Jorge frowned, “I think I might remember something… I’m not sure though. I don’t know if it’s possible…”

“What do you think you remember?”

Fiddling with the cuff of his hoodie, his head hurting from trying so hard to remember things, Jorge’s voice was wobbly, “I think I got up. After. I think I got up. There was blood, I touched it with my hand… Is that possible? Is it possible that I would seem ok? I would look ok for a bit and then collapse?”

“Is this your memory, or a memory someone has told you about?” Frowning in concern, having heard about the distraught young man fleeing from Jorge’s room, the doctor leant forward, “What exactly do you remember?”

Touching his head, his fingers brushing the pristine white bandages, Jorge smiled softly, a happy memory in his head, “Laughing. I remember laughing… Is it possible? That I got up, I walked away with a cut head and I seemed fine? Please, you must tell me, is that possible at all? I need to know. I need to know if it’s a true memory or a lie, I **need** to know, please…”

“Well,” Handing the upset younger man a tissue, the doctor smiled reassuringly, “Head injuries can be complicated…”

*

“Peter,” Holding up the phone, the female detective yawned after a long night on duty, “It’s the hospital. Jorge Lorenzo wants to speak to you, apparently he remembers what happened…”

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the support for this one!
> 
> I feel like it really has broken a dam in writing. I've loved every second of it. 
> 
> I know the ending probably isn't what you expected, but I hope it makes sense, is understandable and I hope you love it as much as I do.
> 
> Thanks x

“You got your memory back yet?” Walking out of the press conference, Uccio by his side, Valentino couldn’t resist the jibe, Jorge a shadow of his previous self.

Stopping, ignoring Albert’s tug on his arm, Jorge frowned, “That policeman, he reckoned it was you…”

“It wasn’t,” Regretting the dig, Valentino swallowed uncomfortably, knowing he was one of the top suspects in the unsolved mystery, “It wasn’t me.”

“Wasn’t it,” Jorge smirked, his green eyes flaring as he glowered at Vale, his hand going up to touch his head, “You know, I think something might be coming back to me… A smell maybe… A distinctive aftershave maybe…”

“That’s not funny…”

“Neither is nearly dying, missing several races and having long term headaches,” Jorge stepped close to Valentino, massively encroaching into the Italian’s personal space, dropping his voice to a whisper, “Maybe it wasn’t you, but be very fucking careful otherwise I might _accidentally_ tell that nice policeman that I think it was…”

“You wouldn’t…”

“Try me…”

*

“You know the penguins are just the same as last year…” Jorge folded his arms, his hood up, scarf wrapped tightly around his neck to protect him from the wind, “And the year before, and the year before that…”

Startled by the sound of the voice behind him, Alex tilted his head, biting his lip, not turning around, “I didn’t come to see them last year.”

“No,” Moving a few steps forward, bring himself level with the younger man, Jorge sounded thoughtful, “I guess everything was different last year… I think we need to talk.”

Turning to the side, the look on his face one of stunned incredulity, Alex narrowed his eyes, “Talk? You’ve avoided and ignored me for a _year_ and now you want to talk?”

“I had a lot to think about. It was a lot to take in,” Glancing to the side, struggling with the conflicting emotions in his chest when he caught Alex’s eye, Jorge shrugged, “I’ll understand if you don’t want too… I’ll be in my car. I’ll wait.”

Watching Jorge walk away, hearing his feet crunch on the ground, Alex turned back toward the sea, the surprising encounter putting him on edge, as if returning to the island hadn’t already done that.

*

“I didn’t mean for it to go on this long…” Breaking the silence that had held for more than ten minutes since Alex had got in the car, Jorge kept his eyes on the horizon, memories of last year making him want to weep, “At first it was because I was too confused. Then it was because I was angry. Then I was sad. Then I just thought it had gone on too long…”

Nodding, understanding that in some ways, having wanted to take the initiative and speak to Jorge so many times, Alex risked a glance to the side, the scar on Jorge’s head visible to him despite the thin covering of hair over it, “Why now?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s fitting…” Jorge turned to Alex, tears pooling in his green eyes, “I wish I could remember completely… I really do.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I can remember us talking. I remember kissing you and being _so_ happy. I remember hating the fact you said we should wait until the end of the season because I didn’t want too, even though I knew it was right,” Closing his eyes, his head going back onto the head rest, Jorge chewed on his lip, remembering back to that night always making him feel slightly nauseous, “I remember us laughing. I think I remember getting up, but other than that…”

Slightly exasperated, the fact Jorge was suspicious of him having tormented him for a whole year, Alex turned to the older man with glassy eyes and a pained expression, “So, why are we here? Is this some sort of ploy to get me to confess something? What is the point of this?”

“I need you to tell me what happened…”

“I did.”

“I need you to tell me again. In detail…”

“Ok.”

“At the house…”

Taken aback, Alex shook his head, stunned, “No way. I’m not going back there.”

“I need this, Alex. I need it.”

*

“Any word?”

Slumping down on the sofa, Marc shook his head, chucking his phone onto the table, “Nope… How long does it take to look at some penguins? I mean a penguin is a penguin surely?”

“Sorry,” Dani burst into giggles, the confused look on Marc’s face making it even funnier, “It’s just that _‘a penguin is a penguin’_ is not high on the list of phrases you’d expect to hear Marc Marquez say…”

Shooting Dani a huffy look Marc sighed, “Not helpful Pedrosa…”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Trying to stifle his giggles, Dani bit his lip, unable to stop himself, “Say it again…”

Incredulous, Marc quirked his eyebrow at the older rider, “Really Dani? Of all the things you could ask me to say **that** is the one you want to hear?”

Blushing, Dani licked his bottom lip, glancing toward the front door of the shared rental house, “Is the door locked?”

Nodding, a wicked grin spreading over his face, Marc moved to straddle Dani’s lap, making the older man grunt when he pressed his hand against the bulge in Dani’s jeans, “Are you _sure_ you can’t think of anything better for me to say?”

*

Stepping out into the garden, Alex froze, momentarily paralyzed by the memory of stepping into the garden one year previously, “I… I… I don’t know if I can do this…”

“I need this…”

Shaking his head, feeling like he was going to vomit Alex sounded bereft, “I can’t… I… Everything was perfect here…”

“Please Alex.”

“You can’t ask me for this, it’s not fair,” Alex cried, crumpling against the wall, tears streaming down his face, his eyes locked onto the spot where Jorge had laid, “We were messing. We were messing around and I chucked the rock and it hit you and you called me a prick and you got up. You got up, Jorge. You got up and we went our separate ways and then you were just there… Lying there and I thought you were dead. I thought I’d killed you, but you were fine… I’d never have left you if it was anything more than a cut…”

“The doctor said one of two things happened,” Wandering closer to the spot, looking up at the windows above, his eyes instantly drawn to the room that housed his Italian nemesis, Jorge tilted his head to the side, “Either I got hit, and I was fine, but later the swelling inside make me collapse… Or I got him, and I was fine, and then I was hit again. I can remember getting up. I remember blood on my hands…”

“Wait,” Alex looked at Jorge, confused, “You’ve known all year that you were fine when I left? And you said nothing?”

“I wasn’t completely sure. It’s been coming back in little bits…” Jorge shrugged, biting his lip, regretting a decision he made in anger at Alex and Franky, “I thought you might come to me.”

“They told me to stay away!” Alex cried out again, the pain in his guts making him whimper, “They told me to stay away from you or I could hinder your recovery!”

“I told them to do that. I couldn’t deal with you and Franky being together.”

Resentful, Alex bit back, “You fucked Vale. You cheated with Ricky and then while you were pretending you wanted me back you fucked Vale. So, you don’t get to have a go at me about Franky.”

“I didn’t say I was right,” Walking over to the tiles that had been left blood spattered, now pristine white again, Jorge turned to Alex, “It’s so strange that I’ll likely never remember exactly what happened… It’s like a huge moment in my life is missing.”

Pushing his hands into his pockets, Alex nodded, accepting the strangeness of that, “I can’t imagine.”

“I still love you.”

“Please don’t…”

“I can’t help it.”

“Don’t say it,” Looking down at his feet, distinctly uncomfortable at the conversation, Alex’s voice was barely a whisper, “I love you, but you thought I could do that…”

“I’m sorry…” Jorge sounded rueful, tears rolling down his face, “I wish I had remembered. I just… I don’t understand why you didn’t tell the police the truth…”

“I panicked…” Alex wrapped his arms around his waist, openly crying, “I thought you were dead, Jorge. I thought you were dead and no-one knew… No-one knew we were talking. No-one knew that I still loved you and you still loved me… I was terrified. How could I explain that I’d hit you on the head with a rock, but that it was an accident and you were ok and that I loved you when you were lying there nearly dead? I just panicked…”

“I think I can understand that,” Turning to the younger man, moving closer to him, Jorge took a shaky breath, sniffing loudly, “I have to do this… Please promise me… Promise me you didn’t hit me again… Promise me that it’s the truth…”

“Jorge…” Reaching out, fingertips brushing over the hair covered scar, that touch making them both shiver, Alex’s voice trembled, “I promise you… I promise that what I said is exactly what happened… I don’t know exactly what happened after I went back inside, but I didn’t come back, I didn’t hit you again and I didn’t leave you there. I promise.”

“It was just an accident… My brain swelling wasn’t instant… You couldn't have known...” Biting his lip, looking up at Alex, Jorge nodded, “I believe you.”

Those words breaking a dam that he hadn’t even realised had been built inside him, Alex collapsed to his knees, clinging to Jorge as he wept, the older man sinking down with him, both crying for the life they’d lost, the worries and fear of everything lifting from their shoulders as they finally let it all out.

*

“Thank you…” Parked in the darkness, back near the beach to collect Alex’s car, Jorge smiled, “I needed to do that… I needed to know.”

Nodding, exhausted by the tears, and the relief, Alex smiled sadly, “I’m sorry…”

“You were aiming for Vale’s window, that’s always forgivable,” Jorge laughed, the sound tinged with sadness, “Maybe one day…”

Shaking his head, Alex bit his lip, “We can’t… Not after all this time.”

“I know,” Breathing harshly as Alex’s lips landed on his, the taste as Alex’s tongue swiped into his mouth so familiar, yet so alien after so long, Jorge nodded as Alex pulled away, “I love you.”

“You too,” Alex opened the car door, his eyes glassy again as he looked back, “Goodbye Jorge.”

 


End file.
